“It’s hard when the pictures keep showing up, even when you’re not at parties.”

I nod. “For me, the hardest part is dealing with how my past impacts my present, and how it affects you.” I can’t change anything that’s already happened, and that sucks. “Is that why you went camping with Lily and your ex, even after we made up?”

“It’s not the only reason.”

“Convenient how you left out the part about how you and Kale were together for four years.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide.

I answer the question she doesn’t ask. “I talked to Vi after you left. I was concerned, obviously, about you spending the week with him. I wanted to know what I was up against.”

“Up against?”

“That dude is walking around with a divining rod in his pants aimed at you.”

“It’s not like that. Our relationship has always been difficult. He’s Benji’s best friend. We have to see each other.”

“You want honesty from me? Well, that goes both ways, sweets. Are you sure you’re not looking to get back together with Bushm—Kale? You two looked cozy in all those pictures he posted this week.” We might as well get it all out now. It’s strange; I expected her to be the one getting angry, but here it’s me.

Sunny bites her lip, white teeth pressing into plush pink skin. I miss her mouth. I miss everything about her even though she’s right in front of me. Maybe this is what love is. If so, I’m not sure I like it all that much. This feels like I’ve taken a puck to the balls, except it’s hurting from the inside out instead.

“I don’t want to be with Kale.”

“Does he know that? You strung him along this week for what? To see whether you still had feelings for him? To make me jealous?”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like dating you? Do you know how often I have to defend why I’m with you? How many times I’ve checked my own stupid social media to find someone has tagged me in a picture of you with another girl?

“Has it ever been me posting the pictures?”

“No, but it makes me look stupid for being with you when there are pictures of you with someone who isn’t me all the time!”

There’s the anger I’ve been waiting for.

“People assume you must be sleeping with them because that’s what you’re known for doing! Sometimes it’s hard not to question whether it’s true. And then there was the one yesterday with the girl who looked like me. So the answer to your question is yes, Miller. I want you to be jealous, because that’s how I feel all the time when I’m not with you. Happy now?”

“No. It doesn’t make me happy; it makes me feel like shit. That was a group shot with counselors at the camp. Not a party. There was nothing illicit happening.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? It sounds to me like you think as soon as the camera was gone, me and that chick got naked—people standing around, spider bite, and all.”

Her gaze is fixed on the log. She’s fidgeting with her hair. “She looks like me.”

“She was a counselor at the camp. She’s not you.”

I shift closer until my knees are on either side of hers and I’m inside her personal space bubble. “How are we ever going to make this work if you can’t trust me to do the right thing?”

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

I tip her chin up until her eyes meet mine. “Of what, baby?”

Her chin trembles. “Of how I feel about you.”

Her vulnerability is exactly what I need. I might not know what I’m supposed to do here, but I’ve seen enough of those chick flicks, thanks to Skye and Violet, to have an idea of what could work. Besides, I like those movies. I’ll never tell anyone, though.

I place my palm on her cheek. Then I do what they do in movies. I brush away her tears with my thumb. It’s not that effective. Mostly it’s just spreading the wetness around. I do the same thing with the other hand, but the tears are already sliding down her cheeks, so now my palm and her entire face are damp. Also, it’s not making the tears stop. In fact she starts crying harder.

“Why do you have to be so sweet? Why can’t you be an asshole?”

“You want me to be an asshole?” Women are confusing when there’s more than sex involved.

She makes a noise somewhere between frustration and maybe a snifflish laugh. Then she moves closer and buries her face against my neck so I can’t wipe away her tears anymore.

I wrap my arms around her, not too tight because I don’t want to crush her, but enough that she has to know I don’t want to let her go. I press my nose into her hair. She smells more like the outdoors than her shampoo, and there are few pine needles stuck in there, so I rest my chin on top of her head and hold her.

I get why she’s scared. I feel the same way. It’s not horror-movies scared, or spider-bite-on-my-balls terrifying, but an inside kind of fear. This is what it’s like to really care about another person, I realize.

“I’m sorry I’ve been making you jealous. It wasn’t intentional, but I get it now. Seeing all those pictures of you with Bush—Kale this week drove me nuts. And not being able to talk to you, not knowing what was going on made it even worse. I didn’t like the way I felt, and I don’t want to make you feel that way.”

I feel the warmth of her breath on my neck as she exhales and snuggles in closer. She slides her hands up my arms. I’m acutely aware of how little clothing she’s wearing and how much I want to touch her, all over her mostly naked body.